*Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise, 'It's a Wonderful Life', or 'The Greatest Gift.'

**Special Note: Happy Birthday to my lovely friend, Flaux! C=

*Author's Notes: I'm back with chapter 2 of 'Because You Weren't There' and this one has a little bit of everything. There's some humor, angst, suspense, drama, and perhaps most importantly, Sassatello. XD

Thank you all so much for the overwhelming response to the first chapter. I can't even begin to tell you how extremely grateful I am to all my readers, friends, and followers. It's such a tremendous blessing to have so many amazing people supporting me. :'}

Okay, I'm getting overly mushy here, so I'd better jump right into the chapter. I really hope everyone enjoys it. Thank you for reading. ;) CJ

Chapter 2 - Up on the Rooftop. Click, Click, Click.

It feels as if my heart's about to leap right out of my plastron and leave me for dead, which is a rather unsettling thought.

Even my own internal organs aren't willing to support me in my time of need.

Not that that should be my biggest concern given my present situation . . .

I mean, I'm currently being held up so that my feet are dangling about six inches above the rooftop by some total stranger that looks to be around two to three inches taller than me and at least fifty pounds heavier.

Yeah. That's probably where my focus should be lying right about now . . .

For reasons I can't really explain, I seem to have momentarily forgotten that I'm a highly trained ninja. I just hang here, limp in the large man's iron grasp, like my muscles are frozen or something.

After several long moments of staring at the human in a hypnotic state, I finally find my voice. Although it comes out in a shrill, almost girly tone that no living being would ever take seriously.

"L – Let me go!"

Much to my surprise, the man immediately obliges and sets me back down on the rooftop, gently of all things.

More than just a little confused by the man's actions, I take several giant steps backwards, being careful not to slip and make a fool out of myself again.

When I feel I've put a safe bit of distance between us, I reach for my trusty bo-staff and assume a defensive stance. Just having my weapon out in front of me instantly makes me feel about ninety-seven percent more confident than I did mere seconds ago. It's a security blanket kind of thing.

"Who – Who are you and what do you want?" Okay, that didn't quite sound ninety-seven percent more confident now, did it?

Way to intimidate the guy, Donatello. I'm sure he's shaking in his boots.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just trying to help you." The man holds his hands up in front of himself to presumably show truce. He doesn't exactly look like a threat. More like somebody's harmless, rather rotund, middle-aged uncle, but that doesn't lessen my defenses any.

"Yeah, well you certainly could've – Wait! Why aren't you running away screaming?" The sudden realization probably should've occurred to me before. This guy doesn't look the least bit surprised by the fact that I'm an oversized, talking turtle. This leads me to deduce that he's either previously seen me or one of my brothers, or he's a tad on the crazy side.

Maybe it's a little bit of both . . .

I can't help but notice this guy bears a slight resemblance to 'The Pulverizer.' Well, a noticeably older version of him, minus the goofy costume. Not that I'm saying the man looks like a doofus (Master Splinter's word, not mine). I mean, I'm not trying to insult the guy or anything. It's just that he looks a little like Timothy is all. Not that that's a bad thing. There are a lot worse –

My rambling thoughts are abruptly – and mercifully – interrupted by the man's confused voice.

"Why would I run away screaming?"

The word 'duh' comes to mind, but there's no need to be rude like a certain red-masked turtle I just so happen to be related to. The last thing I ever want to do is to start acting like Raphael.

"It's just that most humans don't react all that calmly to seeing a – Well, someone who looks like me. Usually people take one glance and head for the proverbial hills."

The stranger's face crinkles up like one of Mikey's greasy potato chip bags that he leaves lying all over the lair. It's a look I'm quite familiar with. My brothers look at me with that same baffled expression every time I try to talk about 'sciency' things.

I'm about to elaborate on my comments when the lightbulb seemingly goes off in the stranger's head.

"Oh, you mean 'cause you're a life-sized, talking turtle? That doesn't bother me, Donatello."

The man's last line makes me take a few more steps backwards and I tighten my grip on my bo-staff.

"How – How did you know my name? I never told you what it was." Though I had fully intended on sounding intimidating when I said this, I come across sounding more tentative than anything else. It's one of the many downsides of being scared out of your wits.

"I know lots of stuff about you, Donnie. Like how you've got three brothers who you don't think appreciate you enough. That you've got a rat for a dad who taught you Ninjutsu. That you spend more time in your laboratory than anywhere else. Oh, and that you've had a crush on April O'Neil since – "

"Okay, that's enough!" In the interest of self-preservation, my thumb is resting on the button that triggers my naginata blade hidden in my bo-staff. That's because I'm now reasonably certain that this guy is nuttier than a fruitcake. What's even worse is that he knows about my family and April. And if he knows about my lab, then –

Holy mackerel!

"How do you know all that stuff? Have you been following me? Who the heck are you?" I shift my defensive stance into a much more hostile posture to better convey my increasing anxiety.

The man reacts by holding his hands up in the air, like I just said 'stick 'em up' or something.

Maybe this guy really is a 'doofus' after all . . .

"Please! I don't mean you any harm. I'm just – I'm just here to help you."

Now I'm the one with the confused look on my face.

"Help me? Stalking me is more like it. You know what? Just stay away from me, buddy. I don't need your kind of help!" Turning my shell to the man, I'm about to leap to the next rooftop and hightail it on out of here when the guy speaks again.

"Herman."

This makes me turn back around, if only out of curiosity.

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Herman. Herman Steed."

Though I'm half-tempted to say I don't give a Splinter's butt ('Splinter's butt' being the filtered, PG-version of what I really want to say), I try to be civil about the whole thing. As Mikey said earlier . . .

'Tis the season, bro!'

"Well, Herman Herman Steed, I suggest you go spend Christmas Eve with your family. And while you're at it, leave my family alone. Got it?" I put a little extra scorn on the words 'my' and 'got it' just to make sure I get my meaning across. Then, I once again start to walk away, thinking the conversation is over, but I don't make it very far.

"So does that mean you're going back?"

This question makes me stop stiff in my tracks and I feel a chill crawl up and down my spine, but I can tell you with a hundred percent certainty that the sudden chill isn't from the actual cold nipping at my skin. It's from him. There's something way, wayyyyyyyy off about this guy.

"I'm sorry. What?"

It's not like I hadn't heard the man's question loud and clear. It's just that the analytical part of my brain always craves further clarification. Especially when some crackpot you've never met seems to know so much about you.

"To your family? Are you going back to the lair?" The concern in the man's dark-brown gaze is unmistakable, but at the same time, it's also extremely disturbing.

How the heck does he know any of this stuff?

The familiar whoosh of my naginata blade releasing sounds out, and less than a second later, I'm brandishing the razor-sharp edge of my weapon inches away from the stranger's chest.

"Okay, you're seriously starting to creep me out, mister!"

"Herman."

The man timidly repeating his name steals away my thunder for a moment, but just for a moment. I'm not about to let my guard down.

I believe I already pointed out that this guy's nuttier than a fruitcake, but it bears repeating.

This guy's nuttier than a fruitcake. And I hate fruitcake!

"Whatever, Herman! Did someone send you here to spy on me or something?" I squint one eye and look about the rooftop suspiciously, like I'm convinced that a coconspirator is going to jump out of the shadows any second now. Years of being secluding in my lab while doing extensive internet research have clearly made me a bit paranoid.

"No. No one sent me, so to speak. I told you, I'm just here to help you."

"And how exactly do you plan on helping me?" I say this in the most sarcastic way possible, but I'm guessing by the rather blank expression on the man's face, my mocking him flew right over his head. Kind of like it always does with Mikey.

"By making you see your own worth. You think that what you do doesn't matter, but it does."

It takes a whole lot of effort to stop myself from rolling my eyes over the man's extremely cheesy comments. Could he possibly be anymore cliché? Honestly, it sounds as if the lines came straight out of one of those corny after school specials Leo claims he never watches.

"No, that's where you're wrong, bud – " I catch myself in the middle of calling the guy 'buddy,' again, and quickly correct the error. "Herman. It isn't that I don't think what I do matters. It's that it doesn't seem to matter to my brothers." My voice noticeably cracks when I say the word 'brothers,' but I'm quick to cough into my fist and try to chalk the sudden hoarseness up to the cold weather.

"Awww, but it does, Donatello. It matters very much."

This time, I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "You don't know my brothers. I'm constantly fixing things and they can't even bother to say thank you. It's like – " I have to start my sentence over again because my throat closes up on me for a moment. "It's like they don't care about anything I do."

"You realize that's not true, right?"

I abruptly turn my head away, because I can feel moisture start to dampen my mask. This guy's going to think I'm a real headcase if he sees the big, bad ninja crying like a baby over a little fight with his brothers. Not that I should be all that concerned about this guy's opinion. He seems to be a bit of a headcase himself.

If Raph were here, he'd most certainly call the man a 'whackjob.'

The thought of Raph immediately makes my heart sink about level with my frozen feet, which in turn, makes me realize that I really need to get out of this biting cold.

"Listen, Herman. I know you think that you're helping, but I honestly don't need any help. I just – I just want to be alone right now. Okay?"

"But it's Christmas Eve. Don't you think you should go back? Your family must be worried about you."

For some reason, that last statement makes anger flare up inside of me again and my hands ball into fists for the second time tonight.

"Worried about me? Ha! Knowing them, they're probably celebrating the fact that I'm gone. I'm sure they're all thinking Christmas will be a lot more fun without me around."

There's perhaps more scorn in my voice than I'd initially intended, but I don't regret a single word of my highly cynical reply.

Bah humbug!

When I turn back towards Herman, I notice his eyes suddenly look like a couple of petri dishes glistening in the moonlight.

Rather than being put off by my increasingly bad mood, the guy looks –

Excited?

"What are you saying, Donatello?"

Rubbing a hand against the back of my throbbing head, I try to organize my thoughts as best I can. I think the frigid temperature outside must be messing with my brain, because I'm having a tough time thinking straight.

"Aw, I'm not even sure what I'm saying. It's just that – Well, sometimes I think my life would've been a whole lot easier if I'd never been mutated. Maybe things would be better off without me, you know? I work my fingers to the bone, and for what? I mean, it's not like my brothers notice me anyway. Things would be so much – Wait! Why am I still talking to you about this stuff? I don't even know you!"

I can feel my left eye involuntarily twitching in its socket, which tells me that I must have the 'crazy' look on my face that my baby brother is always so apt to point out. But the man before me seems undaunted by my expression.

"Sure you do. I'm Herman, remember? And like I already said, I'm here to help you. And now, I know exactly how I can. By making you see that your brothers really do need you. You'll realize that once you're gone."

Huh? Gone?

Okay, I'm not going to lie. This guy's about twelve cards short of a full deck.

Why do I get the sickening feeling that something bad's about to happen?

"Uh, thanks, but no thanks, pal. The best way for you to help me is to just leave me alone!"

Despite the bluntness of my response and my now extremely aggressive features, Herman once again seems undaunted. In fact, he's wearing a smug grin, like he knows something I don't. The kind of grin Raph gets when he's about to –

Attack!?

This makes the pit of my stomach bottom out.

Then, Herman just makes the situation all the more awkward by saying, "Not until I give you a little gift, Donatello."

Before I even have a chance to refuse the man's sinister sounding offer, he holds up an open hand in front of his mouth, purses his lips, and blows a heavy breath into the air.

At least, I thought it was just air.

A fine, green dust seemingly materializes from out of nowhere and hits me right in the face. In a panic, I gasp only to realize seconds later that I really shouldn't have breathed the stuff in. Whatever this unknown substance is, it's remarkably fast-acting. I can already feel the effects of the green powder starting to take hold.

This can't be good.

Quickly cupping a hand over my mouth, so as not to ingest any more of the weird dust, I try to stagger away, but my entire body begins to seize up on me, limb by limb. I'm swaying on my feet and dangerously close to the rooftop ledge, when Herman grabs me by the arm and yanks me back. Unable to control my movements any longer, I topple into a boneless heap on the rooftop.

With what little strength I have left, I force myself to lift my head up and gaze at Herman through eyes that are barely open.

"W – Why?" Is all I can get manage to wheeze out as my face drops heavily into the blanket of snow beneath me. I don't even feel the impact, nor do I feel the cold licking against my skin, comfortably numb to everything around me.

The last thing I see before consciousness releases its grasp on me is a smile plastered on the mysterious man's face.

Then, it's silent night.

To be continued . . .

*Author's Notes: Geez! Donnie's really having one lousy night. Poor kid . . .

If you're enjoying this story, please take a quick moment to favorite, follow, like, reblog, review, and/or comment. The positive feedback truly means the world to me. Thank you very much for reading. I'll be posting again soon. ;) CJ

**Special Notes: Thank you to all the readers who checked out my latest Shell Shot, 'Better Than None.' I really, really appreciate it. Also, to those of you following 'Slash's Revenge,' I will be posting a new chapter later this week. Just so you know, it will be a real roller coaster ride.